Chapter 64 – The Door That Breathes
The door was not there a moment ago.
Now it stood at the edge of the broken path like it had always belonged to the world—tall, arched, carved from black stone that shimmered faintly as if it breathed in the dim nothingness around it. Its surface was covered in markings, but not runes Atreus recognized. They twisted and shifted when he tried to focus on them, sliding out of meaning, resisting understanding.
"Was that here before?" Atreus asked quietly.
Kratos shook his head. "No."
Xenara had halted several steps back, her gaze fixed on the door as if on a sleeping beast.
"It only shows itself to those it has already chosen," she said.
"That's comforting," Atreus muttered.
The silence around them thickened. The abyss at the side of the path pulsed once, like a giant, distant heartbeat. For an instant, Atreus thought the darkness itself had flinched.
Then the door made a sound.
A low, hollow exhale.
Not a creak… not a groan.
A breath.
Atreus stiffened. "Did it just—"
"It is alive in its own way," Xenara said softly. "It is not an entrance. It is a threshold."
"A threshold to what?" he asked.
"To the version of you that the Nine tried to bury."
Kratos moved forward at once, placing himself between Atreus and the door.
"We do not step through anything we do not understand," he growled.
The door responded.
Not by speaking.
But by changing.
What had been solid stone rippled for a moment… and for the briefest second, it became reflective like black water.
Atreus saw himself.
But not as he was.
This version of him stood taller. Older. His eyes were darker. There were faint golden veins visible along his arms and neck, pulsing with restrained power. Behind that reflection-unself, vague shadows stretched outward like wings made of smoke.
"Is that… me?" he whispered.
Kratos saw it too.
His jaw tightened.
The reflection Atreus spoke.
But its lips never moved.
The sound came from inside his mind.
You walk carefully… but your steps already echo through eternity.
Atreus staggered back slightly, gripping his head. "Get out of my mind!"
This is not your mind, the presence answered. This is the memory the Nine tried to carve out of existence.
"The Nine did this?" he demanded, voice trembling with anger and fear. "They tried to erase me?"
They tried to erase what you become.
The door began to glow faintly from within, thin lines of gold seeping through the cracks of its surface like light through a breaking shell.
"We are leaving," Kratos said firmly. "Now."
He turned, reaching for Atreus' shoulder—
—and the path behind them vanished.
Replaced by endless black.
A slow, soundless void.
For the first time in a long while, Kratos' expression shifted.
Not to fear.
But to recognition.
"We are already inside," he said quietly.
Xenara walked closer to the door now, her face pale.
"The Still Vein has answered him," she murmured. "It's chosen a direction."
Atreus looked back at the door.
This time, the reflection was gone.
Instead — a scene.
A battlefield covered in ash. Broken thrones. Fallen gods. A cracked sky bleeding light. And in the center, something kneeling… holding a familiar axe.
Kratos' axe.
But the hand holding it was not Kratos'.
Atreus' heart pounded.
"That's the future it's claiming belongs to you," Xenara said. "A world born out of divine collapse."
"You expect me to just accept this?" Atreus snapped. "That I become some kind of destroyer of worlds?"
"Do you feel like one?" she asked softly.
He hesitated.
That was the worst part.
The silence between her words screamed with meaning.
The door pulsed again. Stronger this time.
And then… it began to open.
Not sideways.
Inward.
Like a mouth parting.
Inside was no darkness.
Only a dim, golden mist swirling in endless motion.
A realm within the realm.
"Do not move," Kratos warned.
But Atreus felt something pull at him. Not physical. Not magical… familiar.
Like a place that remembered him.
"I think… it's only for me," he whispered.
Kratos stepped in front of him at once. "You are not entering alone."
"You can't stop me from walking," Atreus replied, voice firm but calm. "But you can walk with me."
A long pause stretched between them.
Slowly, Kratos lowered his guard — but not his readiness.
"Then we go together."
They both stepped toward the threshold.
The moment Atreus crossed it, the world tilted.
Time twisted.
He wasn't standing anymore.
He was remembering.
Visions flooded his mind — not like prophecy, not like illusion — but like memories that did not belong to him:
Standing before the Nine as a child, energy swelling beneath his skin.
Hearing them argue in ancient voices about whether to destroy him.
Feeling their power seal something deep inside his being.
"They were afraid…" he murmured. "Not of me. Of what could come through me."
In the mist, shapes formed.
Nine thrones.
Nine shadows upon them.
And one… still empty.
Waiting.
A voice echoed through the golden fog.
"SIT."
Atreus' feet moved without permission, carrying him toward the final throne.
Kratos roared behind him:
"Atreus, resist it!"
He tried.
Truly, he did.
But the throne was not calling him.
It was recognizing him.
When he reached it, the surface was warm, like living stone.
The moment his fingers brushed the armrest—
Power surged through the entire realm.
Far away, unseen by him, the Veins of Realms shuddered.
Worlds trembled.
The Nine felt it.
And one whispered in dread:
"He has found the seat…"
Atreus yanked his hand away.
The vision shattered instantly.
He gasped as reality slammed back into place. He stood again before the door in the Still Vein, breathing hard. Behind him, Kratos had drawn the Blades, eyes blazing, ready for anything.
The door was closing now.
Slowly.
As if satisfied.
As if it had only needed confirmation.
"What did it show you?" Kratos demanded.
Atreus stared at his trembling hand.
"…A throne made for me."
The door finally sealed shut with a quiet, final breath.
The path behind them began to reappear.
But the silence had changed.
It was no longer watching.
It was waiting.
And deep within Atreus, something ancient had finally....
.